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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo

Morning in May

Ah, mid-May. The perfect time of year: when work things have [almost] wrapped up, and summer things haven't yet started, and the days are bright and perpetually mid-60s-low-70s. (But the night is dark and full of terrors.)

Friday night, five of us piled into Pat's Mom-mobile and drove to Arundel Mills, filling up on margaritas and guac before seeing the new Godzilla flick: a little meandering and slow at times but overall a perfectly serviceable contribution to Hollywood's fetish for remake after countless remake.

Saturday morning I went for a run through Roland Park, on my way back cutting through the less-traveled Stony Run Trail, sun-dappled and glittering in the sugary morning air, a tree-lined dirt path hugging a winding creek all the way from Hopkins to Northern Parkway. Rhythmic beating and chanting courtesy of a ragtag team of street percussionists super-imposed over Miley Cyrus's latest gyration virally transmitted through radio waves made for a not-altogether-unpleasant drive--windows down, sunroof open, hair flailing inflatable-tube-man-like in the wind--over to the Waverly farmer's market. It had been awhile since my last visit, and I was disappointed to see that Waverly had succumbed to the trendification of farmers' markets, wherein the proliferation of prepared foods, craft vendors, and folk musicians busking for tips overshadowed the actual farmers and their lovely produce. I stocked up on asparagus and far too many strawberries and pushed and glared my way through the thoroughfare which was thoroughly jammed with yuppies clamoring over almond butter and artisan cheeses.

Breakfast was strawberry pancakes with a side of cheddar-brie omelet. In the afternoon I set off on a shopping adventure with the best shopping companions a girl could ask for: a cadre of gay men. We worked our way through the Inner Harbor and over to Harbor East, collectively delighting in the sales as much as in the bronzed, shirtless joggers that occasionally speckled our path. The gay men cadre (gay-dre?) doubled when we stopped for happy hour sushi and drink specials. From now on, I think I will exclusively befriend gay men. There's something refreshing and liberating about being the lone possessor of a double-X chromosome in a group of attractive, gregarious, well-dressed XY's who expect nothing from you but glowing conversation and a rapt ear for their triple-X tales.

At home that evening, Mark and I met with one of my favorite attractive gregarious gay men, Shaun T, for a brutal total body circuit workout. My legs, already achy from the morning run and an afternoon of walking, screamed as I squatted and lunged and planked and burpee-d until I was sure my muscles would fail completely and leave me curled up on the ground in a twitchy heap.

Today is another good day. Work for a couple hours, lunch date with a friend I haven't seen in ages, a pedicure if there's time, dinner and Game of Thrones with old friends. Tomorrow I will bake a chocolate peanut butter cake for Lauren. She is graduating with her doctorate on Thursday. One of the hardest-working, best human beings I know. I couldn't be prouder of her.

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